


nudge the moment before impact

by Ani



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani/pseuds/Ani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there were no wax, what if I could just reach up and save you? And no splash, unnoticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nudge the moment before impact

John made the decision before they said goodbye.  
  
It wasn’t a good time. This was going to be dangerous. Maybe more dangerous than it would be just to let him fall...  
  
But John wasn’t going to let  that  happen.  
  
And it was never going to be a good time, was it? There was no right moment. There never  could  be a moment. This was never supposed to happen, but John was letting it happen; tempting it to happen, really. Pushing situation after situation where it would linger, would stand at the threshold and teeter, threatening to spill; pulling on the odds until they become more and more likely for it to really actually  happen . Playing the game. Upping the numbers. Increasing the statistical odds.  
  
Playing with fire.  
  
When John thought about every chance they’d already risked it was just amazing it hadn’t already happened. All the near deaths. All the risky escapes. All the last minute, last breath, pull-an-opportunity-out-of-thin-air-last-chances. All the times he  almost and then didn’t have to.  
  
His therapist would probably tell him that he was wanting it to happen, willing it to happen, creating situations where it would be the only solution and he’d get to unburden his secrets. She’d probably be right. Assuming that was the sort of thing he could tell his therapist.  
  
Assuming that was the sort of thing he could tell a human being.  
  
But here, now, was the time.  
  
Here, now, there were no alternatives. Here, now, John would reveal himself. Here, now, John would show himself and bring all the scrambling darkness to them with the scent of blood on their tongues; here now John would show himself and bring power and air and unearthly aid to the world. Here, now, John would finally get to tell Sherlock what Sherlock never knew, could never deduce, the dark strength and bright awe that Sherlock knew lay at the heart of John, like a sword and shield, but could never understand. Here, now, John could tell Sherlock everything and bare his secrets and bring their worlds down burning for a greater purpose than the little chessboard had ever conceived of.  
  
Here was the moment.

  
Sherlock fell. He pushed his feet off the edge and fell into the air, arms spinning, rushing to the ground. Rushing to hard concrete and a burst skull, blood popping like a grape, flying to his death. And John ran, pushed strength and motion into the earth with every step, every leap. And John pushed down on the last step, coiled down, gathered strength, before pushing force into a wild leap upwards. He let his shoulders relax. He let his spine loose. There was the snap at his back, the familiar pain and relief, the shuddering hesitancy of muscles fighting gravity and feathers fighting gravity.  
  
John spread his wings and reached up and caught Sherlock in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Robin in Flight" by Paul Adrian which you can read [here](http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/competitions/npc/adrian10/).
> 
> Fever makes my music synesthesia more typographical-visual... and that is my excuse for this strange little drabble.


End file.
